


The Warrior and The Prince

by fritz_winky



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Forced Marriage, M/M, Multi, Prisoner Loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-13 07:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fritz_winky/pseuds/fritz_winky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fandral becomes a great hero, and Odin's reward to him is marriage to Loki.  Loki is not happy about it.  He resists every attempt Fandral makes at appeasing him and refuses to share any part of his life.  Which is too bad, especially when Fandral decides he's actually in love with Loki.  But one day, something happens and the only one Loki can trust to save him is the man he's been doing his best to avoid.</p><p>(Read full Norsekink prompt <a href="http://norsekink.livejournal.com/12008.html?thread=28116456#t28116456">here</a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which We Meet The Warrior

**Author's Note:**

> *Set between Avengers and Thor: The Dark World.

* * *

* * *

 

 

Being a member of the Warriors Three had its perks.

For one, there was the fame. Poets and bards echoed the ballads of Voluminous Volstagg, Grim Hogun and Dashing Fandral throughout the land. Foes in other realms whispered their names, and only those with foolish bravado dared to speak them aloud. (These were always, oddly enough, the first to die in battle.) It meant special treatments, respect, and plenty of beautiful women. Of course, the only one _that_ mattered to was Fandral, who seemed to make a game of how many beauties he could fit in his lap. It was a trait that had become expected of him from the people, and one he was quite happy to oblige. Always.

Being in the Warriors Three also meant being a special part of Odin’s advanced guard. It gave them access to royal training facilities (the best in Asgard) and to the palace whenever they wished. With or without Thor, they could feast and drink as they pleased, and that was where they were to be found now.

The day was beautiful, more beautiful than usual, and so the palace was deserted, save for the three men and a woman who sat in the dining hall. There was a spread fit for a small army (or one Volstagg), mead that kept flowing, and laughter that echoed and filled the room.

“He’ll be sulking in earnest for days now,” declared Fandral. He grinned over his stein at Hogun, who sat glowering with flames in his eyes. “Come, friend Hogun, ‘twas only in sport.”

“You seem on top of your game, fair one.” Volstagg let out a belch and plucked a roll from a basket. “Hogun scarcely had time to strike.”

“Verily.” The Lady Sif’s eyebrows raised. “Fandral no doubt has some milkmaid he’s desperate to impress.”

Volstagg snorted as Sif smirked, but Fandral dismissed it.

“’Twas more than simple luck or inspiration from a fine lady. My increased training with the guard appears to have found its pay off.” He grinned and toasted his drink. “Besides, my fine fellows, we have always known that Fandral is the best of the Warriors Three.”

Fandral’s words sparked uproar among the friends at the table, but he found he could only sit there and laugh as they argued against his point. The noise died down only when Thor walked into the hall.

His face was somber. It usually was, these days, and while it concerned his friends still they had grown used to it. In a short time, especially short for gods, everything they’d come to accept as life had been spun around, and Thor had seemed to take the brunt of it upon his own shoulders. The melancholy that followed the thunder god around had seemed to only increase in the days since Loki’s return to Asgard in chains, and, indeed, an uneasiness had settled over most everyone in the wake of the events. For his own part, Fandral couldn’t believe that Loki had been capable of such things, but the others claimed to have always known it would turn out this way.

So it was Fandral who stood first to greet Thor, bowing his head and crossing his arm over his chest.

“You’ve been to see him.” It was not a question. Thor’s face gave away every answer already.

“I have,” replied Thor. His voice was weary and a shadow of its usual rumble. He sat at the table opposite Sif and frowned. “We are getting nowhere with him. When he chooses to speak, it is in circles and riddles, and it is hard to know when his intentions are honest and when they are deceitful.”

“I say thee,” spoke Volstagg, “why has Odin not sent him to Hela? Surely that would solve all our woes.”

“My mother will not allow it.” And, truthfully, Thor was not sure if he could bring himself to see it done, either. While Loki had disenchanted any lingering feelings Thor might have had about saving his brother, the hope burned like a faded ember in the back of his mind. “Loki is still her son, and she will not see harm befall him.”

“But this is madness!” Sif stood from the table, voice ringing through the hall. “Loki is dangerous, and has proven time and again that he is not one to be trusted. He will twist the trust bestowed upon him and rein his treachery upon the realms. Surely the All-Father sees this?”

As Thor stood from the table, jaw clenched and ready to strike back at Sif with his own words, Fandral stood, too.

“My friends!” he said, holding his hands between them. “This is not the way to speak of this. Loki’s presence in Asgard has made us all wary, but we must not let that go to our heads. Thor is still fresh from battle on Midgard, he hasn’t had time properly to recover, and you know how poor he is with words at the best of times, Sif.”

The corners of his lips turned up as Volstagg let out a roar of laughter. Even Thor couldn’t help but to crack a smile, and he nodded his head curtly.

“I thank you, Fandral, and all of you, my friends. This has truly been a trying time for the House of Odin, and I am ever grateful to have you four to remind me that there is still cause for happiness amidst all the grief.”

As the five of them settled back down, there was little time to move on to other subjects. A horn sounded and they all looked at one another, for there was one reason and one reason alone for that: Odin’s Guard was needed.

The warriors rushed to assemble with their fellows. Between readying weapons and horses, they learned that several prominent families from various realms had been traveling to Asgard. It was not uncommon. Maintaining peace and close ties had always been a matter of importance, more now in recent times than before. An ambush had taken place in a small village where the families had set up for the night, and it was imperative to Odin that the band of rogues be dealt with and the village turned free. The Advanced Guard was to go ahead, and Thor would lay by with the rest in case they were needed.

The trek had taken many an hour. The sun had long since set by the time the Warriors Three, Sif, and the rest of their company arrived in the woods on the outskirts of the village. As a make shift camp was set up, Fandral and Hogun watched through the trees.

“They’ve set a pyre in the village square,” Hogun gruffed. The light of the flames flickered and waved ad the smoke rose and curled. “Do they mean to burn bodies?”

Fandral set his face in a line.

“I doubt it is to keep warm. I have no doubt, my grim friend, that they mean to make examples of our esteemed guests.”

“This is the influence of Loki,” Sif said, looking over at them. She turned away from surveying the camp set up to stand with them. “He has inspired radicals who would previously not dare to attempt something so foolish under the eyes of Odin. Now these innocents must pay a price.”

“It is,” Volstagg offered, “I feel, perhaps unlikely they will perform executions at this hour. The pyre is a warning, no? A ransom likely to be sent out.”

“Yes, we form a plan and strike them at dawn.” Sif stuck her chin up, silently challenging the men in the village who could not see her. “We will take them by surprise.”

“Are you mad?” Fandral turned to her, eyebrows furrowed. “Within the hour they’ll know of our presence. Surely they’re not so thick as to presume Odin wouldn’t send us to them before a day is through. Once our men light their own fires, we’ll be spotted and scouted.”

“Our men are weary! We cannot risk sending tired soldiers into fight.”

“But we can risk the lives of innocents who only come with good intentions?” Fandral turned to Volstagg and Hogun, but neither of them could bring themselves to look back. “Very well. I cannot, in all my good conscience, force you to bring these men into battle. However, I am the master of my own life, and may choose to risk that as I please.”

Volstagg sputtered as he took a sip of his flask.

“Friend Fandral, surely you do not mean to go in alone. ‘Tis suicide!”

“Should I fall,” Fandral said, taking up two of his favoured swords, “may I find myself feasting in the halls of Valhalla. You will have the men ready for siege at dawn.”

There was no arguing. They knew it would be in vain – each of them was hotheaded and stubborn, and Fandral was the least likely to back away from a cause he saw as noble. It was his nature, and it made him fearless in the face of all dangers, but it also made him reckless. Sif watched him go with a stoic expression.


	2. In Which Fandral Becomes a Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandral kicks ass and takes names, and the author isn't very good at writing it.

* * *

* * *

 

 

Fandral pulled his hood down to conceal his face as best he could. The blackness of the night provided ample cover, but he chose to skirt the edge of the forest as long as he could before venturing out toward the village. It was not big, but it was not unfamiliar, either. Many a night had the Warriors Three enjoyed the hospitality of the tavern within the village square. Perhaps that only motivated Fandral further, but he didn’t take the time to stop and wonder.

From a vantage point he found in the small dip of a rise in the ground, Fandral surveyed the town. It was obvious to him that it was guarded from all entrances, the men standing at the ones within his sight large and formidable opponents. It seemed to him that this was shaping up to be much less of a minor coup and more of a long, involved operation. He made note to keep one or two alive to answer to the All-Father.

The houses along the edge of the village had no windows, save but three, and Fandral set his sights upon one with a light coming from between the shutters. If there were people inside, they were likely his best hope of slipping in unseen and unheard. Crawling along on his stomach, he made it slowly to the home, where he knocked softly on the wooden shutters. There were hushed voices from within, an argument, it seemed, before a man’s appeared to Fandral. It looked wary and distrusting.

“I prithee,” Fandral said, before the man could say anything himself, “do not make any sound of alarm. I am Fandral the Dashing, of Odin’s Advanced Guard and the Warriors Three. My friends and fellow warriors are lying in wait in the forest behind me, and we are here on Odin’s express command to dispatch of these scoundrels who’ve taken your home hostage.”

The expression on the man’s face changed to relief, and he and his son helped pull Fandral in through the window before closing the shutters once again.

“We are on strict orders to keep all doors and windows closed,” the man explained. “So we cannot see what they are up to.”

“Tricky,” mused Fandral. He paced along the room, stroking at his beard. “Then you do not know if they have a patrol?”

“Yes!” piped up a woman. The man’s wife, no doubt. She nodded eagerly. “They do. We hear the footsteps circle every half hour. By your luck, sir, you have just missed it.”

“Excellent! And the families that had been traveling to the high palace, they are within the tavern, are they not?”

“They are. Before shutting us all up in our homes, we heard the brutes talking of sending a ransom to Odin All-Father for their lives, though they themselves insisted they were not worth such a price.”

Fandral listened keenly. It was likely that this families, though being nobles and highly revered, were not in fact worth a ransom. But Fandral knew that Odin would consider many things to keep peace with the realms, and deaths on Asgardian land would cause stirrings that could lead to unthinkable things.

“Then you must do as you are told. Under no circumstances are you to disobey the orders these rogues have set out for you. It will likely take them only a few hours to discover that we’ve come for them, and such men as these are always at high tensions. It would not do well to provoke them. Now, tell me,” asked Fandral, “is your roof merely thatched or boarded?”

“Boarded.” The man frowned. “We have terrible seasons here of rain and snow. All our roofs are boarded.”

“Most wonderful. If you here something on top of your house, it is only me.” Fandral gave the family a sweeping bow. “I thank you for your assistance and your time.”

He slipped back out through the window, using the windowsill to pull himself up on to the roof. On his stomach once more, Fandral wiggled toward the edge. From here he was concealed but could see the village before him, the men at the entrances, the pyre burning brightly. He calculated his options. Running out with his sword wielded would likely get him killed or worse, but perhaps he could take out a guard or two, giving his friends easier access come dawn. If he was swift enough, he could dispatch of the patrolman silently, then the guards one by one. Of course, being uncertain of how many other men were lingering out of sight or standing watch inside the tavern, Fandral couldn’t judge his odds evenly.

Fighting men inside an enclosed space was much easier than fighting out in the open, though.

As another half hour steadily approached, Fandral slipped off the roof and landed lightly on his feet between two homes. He drew a dagger from his boot as he heard footsteps nearing, accompanied by heavy, gruff breathing. The patrolman walked by Fandral’s hiding place and the warrior stepped out, quickly grasping a hand over his enemy’s mouth as he slid the dagger through the foe’s neck. The body dropped with a thud.

Fandral worked quickly. He hauled the body, with some effort, into the shadows and traded cloaks. While he was not quite so large, the new clothing would give him a slight more advantage than he’d had. The cloak, however, reeked of sweaty musk and blood, and Fandral had to school himself as to not lose his lunch. There were more important tasks at hand.

The blond took up the patrolman’s walk. He followed the footsteps that had imprinted the ground, making sure to match the stride as best he could. He didn’t dare to look around more than needed. This continued for two circles of the village.

On the third round, Fandral’s blade found itself embedded in the guard nearest the forest full of Odin’s soldiers. Fandral punched him in the head to keep him from making a sound and kicked him to the ground, letting him lie there to die. He repeated the process for the second guard, but had not counted on another patrolman coming to relieve his comrade.

“Oi!” The voice was scratchy and low. It reminded Fandral unpleasantly of giants, and he glanced over his shoulder, grateful that this new cloak gave him much more coverage than his last.

“Someone’s killed our men! There’s a rat snuck in here!” The new patrolman was shouting. Other brutes emerged from their spots inside buildings, looking around confused, and soon heads turned to him. “Who’ve you been letting sneak ‘round, then?”

They began to close in him, and Fandral glanced around madly. Not quite ten, which was a decent challenge on its own, but ten men who would give Volstagg a run for his money was a challenge that this warrior had not yet met. He reached inside his cloak, waiting, and the first two to reach him were impaled upon his blades.

Well, he thought, I guess that blows my cover.

The scoundrels let out cries that made Fandral cringe and sent a shudder down his spine. He’d never heard a sound so terrible, but he counted his blessings that more brutes didn’t advance from the shadows. These must be it. The others were in the tavern, keeping watch on their hostages, not daring to let them out of sight. That didn’t make the situation seem any easier in Fandral’s mind, though.

As the two rogues reeled from the unexpected attack, Fandral turned on his heel to slice both blades across the next. He dodged a blow from a club by tumbling out of the way just in time, his dagger sticking into his attacker’s ankle. A knife swiped at him, but a hit from behind made Fandral fall to the dirt near the pyre.

Needing to regain his footing, Fandral pulled a piece of wood from the edge, swiping the fire on the end of it across the eyes of one of his foes. He leapt up and put his sword through the brute. He dropped the torch and ran his other sword through another coming from behind again. For large men who’d staged an impressive take over, they were not quite so cunning on the battlefield. Fandral twisted his swords and watched the two drop to the ground.  
He tumbled forward again to retrieve his dagger. Reaching up, he dug it into the wounded enemy’s side, pushing it in further as he hoisted himself up to his feet. Fandral used his boot to free his weapon, kicking his opponent on to the pyre. As another found out why Fandral was known as the best with a blade, the warrior looked around. There was one brute missing.

That was when he felt the club come down on his head.

As Fandral hit the ground, he let out a grunt as he forced himself to roll over. His attacker kicked the swords out of Fandral’s reach as he leered down.

“Is this the best old Odin could do? Must be getting senile in his old age.” The foe laughed an ugly laugh, revealing a mouth of jagged and broken teeth. “I think I’ll kill you slowly, because I can.”

Fandral watched, but he felt too dazed for the moment to think of a way out of it. As the rogue lifted his club again, Fandral braced himself for the worst, but the blow never came. Instead, the thug crashed to the ground beside Fandral, a fishing spear protruding from his back. Standing in his place was the son of the family who’d let Fandral into their hut.

“Heard the cries,” said the boy as he scrambled to help Fandral up. “We knew they discovered you, so I opened the window shutters and saw it all.”

“You have my thanks, and my eternal gratitude.” Fandral winced as he stood. He clapped the boy on the shoulder and took a moment to catch his breath. Once he could see straight, he nodded a bit.

“All right. Next to your house you will find the body of one of these hideous creatures, and by him my cloak. If you are willing to test your bravery, you must don it and run to that forest’s edge.” Fandral pointed to the trees that hid his fellows from view. “There you will find my friends, a lady and two men, and a small part of Odin’s army. Tell them what you have seen, have them come to the village as quick as they can. Can you do this, young sir?”

The boy nodded and dashed off quickly. Fandral watched until the boy began to head toward the trees, then turned his sight on the tavern. He could see the shadows moving against the light peeking through the closed windows. Fearing that the worst might befall the innocents inside, Fandral gathered up his swords and ran as best as he could toward the door. Using his shoulder to ram the down door made Fandral clench his teeth against the pain, and when he heard the hinges weaken he kicked it in.

The attack was instant.

It was nearly dawn by the time Sif, Hogun, Volstagg and the rest of Odin’s army made it to the village. They walked through the square and looked grimly at the bodies Fandral had put there, but there was something heavier on the minds of the three leading the way.

The boy had told them what had happened. Fearing that Fandral would not be able to hold his own much longer, the call was sounded to go in, but upon the way they were met with another ambush that had been waiting for them. It took longer than any of them had hoped to take care of the enemies, and in that time there had been no word nor sign from Fandral. Sif had silently cursed herself for letting him run off like the fool he was.

She pushed open the door to the tavern hesitantly, unsure what horrors might await her. There were bodies, of course, more of the rogues that had taken over the village, but nothing else. Cautiously, she and her two fellows wandered through to the next room, and they could only stand and gawk.

There sat Fandral with a lovely maiden in his lap, drinking and eating with the families that they’d come to rescue, and two brutes tied up in the corner with murder in their eyes.

“Ah, my friends, you’ve finally decided to join the party! Sit, eat, we’ve a long journey back to the palace before us.”

“I cannot believe you,” Sif said, but she laughed. Only Fandral, she thought. “You arrogant as-“

“A fine showing, fair one!” Volstagg boomed over Sif. He clapped Fandral on the shoulder and helped himself to a large boar leg. “And a good story to tell for many a night.”

“I was only just in time,” Fandral said, not at all trying to be modest. “These fellows informed me, at blade-point, that they were to send word to Odin that he give into their demands or one by one these fine people would be thrown onto their pyre. When they heard the attack outside they’d changed their plans to slay them all where they stood and to lay the blame on us once we’d arrived. Such silly things people think of when they mean to cause mayhem.” He let out a chuckle and finished his flagon. “Friends, it is time we ride home.”

Back at the palace, it was several hours before the warriors were brought before Odin in his hall. As he watched them from his throne, they knelt before him and stood, unsure, exactly, why their presence was needed.

“The ambassadors and their families tell me you fought bravely,” Odin said, after a thoughtful silence. “Our prisoners have informed us of their plans, and the swiftness with which you’ve acted is commendable.”  
“My Lord,” spoke Sif, “if I might say – ‘twas Fandral’s doing. He would go to the aid of innocents while we sat making battle plans. The safety of both villagers and our guests is thanks to him above all else.” She gave a nod and a bow.

“Is this so?”

Fandral glanced at his friends. He had never done anything for the glory, not really, and he was hesitant to claim recognition without his fellows. In turn, they each gave him a nod and he turned to Odin, taking in a breath.

“It is true, my Lord, that I acted perhaps foolishly, but I have done what they say.”

Odin gazed down at Fandral with an unreadable expression. He remembered Fandral from his youth, many many years ago, growing up with Thor. He remembered the trouble they would get into, and the slight knack for mischief that Fandral had always had. He knew of Fandral’s quick wit and his brashness, but also of the good and true heart within him. True, all of his warriors possess nobleness within them, but Fandral had a goodness that was rare and genuine.

“Fandral the Dashing, member of my guard and of the Warriors Three, your bravery is endless. But beyond that, your heart measures true and strong, and it is by the strength of your conviction and dedication to doing right by all that our guests stand here with us today.”

The All-Father stood from his throne, stepping forward.

“Tonight, we will feast in your honor. Over the years, you have proven yourself, time and time again, worthy of the House of Odin. I would present to you there your tokens of heroism and bravery, and that you would do me the honor of joining the royal ranks by taking Prince Loki in marriage.”

The grin that had formed on Fandral’s face fell slightly. The room, though there had already been practically no one in it, fell gravely silent, and Fandral looked once more to his friends. They seemed as shocked as he did, and slightly nervous, but Fandral had learned one thing over the centuries, and that was that Odin liked to test people.

There was purpose to everything the All-Father did, and one did not say no to anything he requested. Fandral gave a sweeping bow.

“My Lord, I accept your gifts with humility and with honor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any mistakes in grammar and spelling. I cranked this out quickly and, honestly, was a bit out of my depth with the whole action thing. Hopefully you trust me when I say that after this, I am much more in my element again. Next chapter has Loki in it, finally, I promise.


	3. In Which We Meet The Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter: Loki.

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

“No, I will not bow down and accept.”

 Loki stood within his cell, watching Odin through the glass that separated ‘god’ from ‘monster.’  Even under such circumstances, Loki held himself with unwavering dignity.  It was a quality that Odin quietly admired, a quality that they shared – unmoving under pressure.  Slaves only to emotion at the most drastic of times.

 But this was not a moment for nostalgia.  Odin snorted out a breath.

 “You will do as I say, boy.”

 “I will not be tossed aside to be taken by some hapless warrior.  You have no right to decide this for me.”

 “I have _every_ right,” spat Odin.  “You forget that you are a prisoner, Loki, you should be honored I still consider you a member of this family.”  He took in a breath.  He would not give Loki the satisfaction of getting the upper hand.  “Fandral is an apt choice.  He is strong and of good mind and heart.  He has proven himself time and time again as a loyal friend to the house of Odin and a member of my guard –“

 “ _Oh_.”  Loki lowered his head a bit, a smirk curling its way on to his lips.  “Oh, very clever of you, All-Father.  And they say that _I’m_ the trickster god.”  He laughed.  “There is no honor here.  Your pretenses might fool the dimwitted people of Asgard, but not Loki.  You would pass me off to someone that can keep watch on me.  It is exhausting your resources, isn’t it, keeping me imprisoned here.  No one dares come keep watch for too long, but brave and dashing Fandral, there’s someone you can pass me off to.  Let one of your precious guard make me toe the line.  Should he fail, should I get up to old habits, then it’s not Odin’s fault any longer, is it?  I’m impressed.”

 Odin’s jaw clenched.  For an adopted son, Loki had taken on so many of his traits without even knowing.  The words, of course, were true.  All of it.  Odin played many hands but kept his cards close.  Fandral _was_ good, and so perhaps he ought to be freed from this burden.  But that wouldn’t happen.

 “You will be bound to Fandral by marriage.  This is my final say.”

 Loki’s laughter followed Odin down the hall, and echoed in his head even as the preparations for Fandral’s feast began.

And a glorious feast it was.  Loki, of course, was not in attendance, and that seemed to ease everyone’s nerves.  The atmosphere was light and jubilant, Fandral looking like he belonged at the center of it all.  Truly, thought his friends, the limelight loved him. 

 At Fandral’s side was his new sword, a gift bestowed on him by Odin, crafted by the dwarves that had crafted Mjolnir.  In no time, it would learn Fandral as though it was a mere extension of him.  It was the constant topic of conversation at the table amongst his friends and fellow guards.  In fact, the night was going swimmingly, even as Odin stood to praise Fandral in speech before all of Asgard.  But Odin did not leave out Fandral’s _greatest_ prize, and a sudden hush befell the halls at the news of his now impending wedding.  The blond did his best to keep a smile upon his face as he stared out at the blank faces around him.

 The cheerful hum never did return for the remainder of the feast.  Fandral could see the eyes dart his way as the tables hummed with murmured whispers, rumours already flying thanks to those who knew of Fandral’s on-off history with the dark prince of Asgard.  He was all too happy to take his leave once the night was over.

 Though he did not return to his chambers.  His feet guided him down the halls of the palace, toward the chilled and dark corridor that housed Loki’s prison.  The two had not seen each other since the technical treason of the Warriors Three when Loki had briefly held the throne.  But perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, Fandral told himself.  He had, after all, more or less gotten on with the younger Odinson.  Despite all the teasing, he was quick to defend Loki when matters got out of hand, and they’d had their trysts in past centuries.  He took a deep breath before stepping through the doors.

 “Ah, so my brave and fearless warrior finally graces my humble presence,” Loki drawled from his holding chamber.  “How positively kind of you.”

 “I missed you at supper,” Fandral said, stepping up to the glass.  He raised an eyebrow.  “Surely you’d been invited.”

 “And what?  Endure the hateful looks from those who used to be my people?  Or worse yet, sit there like a trophy that’s been won.”  Loki scoffed.  “Your foolishness has finally caught up to, Fandral the Dashing.  A wise man would have turned down any offer the All-Father gave him.”

 “Loki, I am not here to antagonize nor to claim you as a prize.  Much as you seem to think so.  You’ve lost your way, you are not the man I know you to be, and I would like to help you remember who you are.”

 “Such reckless arrogance.  He with a heart more golden than any legendary apple, let him save all the wicked things from darkness.  I will face my fate with you for one simple fact, warrior, and that is I have no choice.  But know that I will not be the doting spouse you desire, and should your attentions stray, as I know they will, then be it upon your head.  You are merely another pawn in Odin’s game.”

 As Loki turned away, Fandral stood there, unsure of what to say.  Loki’s words had stung, of course.  That was Loki’s way.  But surely the words were simply crafted from spite and guilt.  No, it had only made Fandral more determined to set things right.  Somehow. 

 “Until next we meet.”  Fandral gave Loki a sweeping bow and turned to leave, not surprised by the silence that followed him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies at how long this has taken me, and for how short it is. I lost my muse for a bit there, but with The Dark World on the horizon, hopefully it's returning to me.

**Author's Note:**

> Tags are subject to change with each chapter addition, as more situations present themselves and more characters come in.  
> I have a rough idea where this fic will go, but I'm leaving it mostly to chance as inspiration hits.
> 
> I'm also seeking a beta! If anyone is interested, that would be totally awesome, so please let me know.


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